


As Day Is To Night

by Momokai



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Shiro (Voltron), Blood and Injury, Bullshit Science, Canon-Typical Violence, Creative License With The Cloning Process, Family of Choice, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gladiatorial Aspects, Haggar Is Creepy, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kuron Centric, Kuron Has Impulse Control Issues, Kuron Is A Little Shit, Kuron Needs a Hug, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, Mental Health Issues, Part Galra!Kuron, Plot Twists, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Protective Team Voltron, Quintessence, Sentient Lions, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, So Does Kuron, Soul Bond, The Clone Is Not A Cat Pidge, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Touch Starved Kuron, Unethical Experimentation, Why Did I Write This?, With A Twist, possible eventual romance, ratings and tags subject to change, still undecided
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14309958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: As day is to night: A phrase used to describe a stark difference between two things.He was created for one thing and one thing only; to destroy the Paladins of Voltron. He was the Empires tool, Haggar's favored pet. Up until she gave him memories to give him the edge he needed to fulfill his purpose, anyway. Yeah, mistake number fucking one.Kuron may have been a clone, but he didn't let what he looked like or what was in his head define him. He was his own man, master of his own fate, and he was prepared to do anything to survive.(Or: Haggar makes a mistake, Kuron has a bone to pick with the Empire and is basically a little asshole about it. Team Voltron kind of want's to keep him)Now with art!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He remembered his birth.

It wasn’t something anyone could safely say the same to. It simply wasn’t a thing humans were capable of; their brains weren’t built that way and at that early stage still very much developing. Their minds weren’t capable of retaining that kind of information, let alone comprehending it. To do so would be an anomaly, unnatural even.

But there wasn’t anything _natural_ about his birth. There wasn’t anything natural about _him_.

He remembered his birth. The first sensations that had pierced the thick fog of his awakening awareness. Before, there had been nothing. Then, there had been the vague sense of being adrift. Warm. _Safe_.

He remembered the blooming sense of pressure against his skin. Warm and viscous, like honey. It had come in increments, for which he was grateful. His skin had been so _sensitive_ in the beginning, each beat of his own heart sending pulses through the warmth around him, each pulse feeling like an attack on his flesh.

Then slowly, came sounds. Muffled and distorted. At first they’d been nothing but the vaguest impression of noise to his stirring senses, a buzzing that his brain couldn’t make sense of as it sluggishly came online. Eventually he’d recognised the sounds as voices, muted and incomprehensible  through the honey like warmth that held him suspended.

The first time he’d opened his eyes had been a complete accident. A new sound had caught his drifting attention, abrupt and loud enough to send vibrations rippling through the warmth around him, rattling his nerves. He’d jerked, overwhelmed and startled, and suddenly he’d discovered a new sense to be added to his growing collection. It had been the most unpleasant by far, beating out even the uncomfortable sensitivity of his flesh.

_Light._

It had near blinded him, searing into his virgin eyes and creating a fierce ache in his head until he’d instinctively clenched them shut, watering and burning from either the sudden exposure or contact with the viscous substance of his home.

After that, curiosity had unfurled and with it, his first conscious thoughts.

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

Questions he hadn’t known enough to answer. His experiences were limited to the sensory information he’d acquired in his short existence. He had to know _more_.

After that, he’d started putting conscious effort into his senses. He started listening to the muffled voices around him, straining his hearing to try and understand.

He started opening his eyes, slowly, carefully, not wanting to repeat his first experience with sight. At first everything had been blurred and half blotted out with light, until eventually his eyes had adjusted, and the almost blinding light dimmed to a mere luminescence that seemed to stain everything it touched, and it was with a sense of wonder that he encountered his first colour.

_Purple_ , something whispered in the back of his mind, soft yet firm. He repeated the word over and over again in his thoughts, so that he wouldn’t forget.

And then something new had entered his line of sight. It was purple too, but also had more colours. It moved, and made sound. It had a voice. One that pierced the thick warmth surrounding him, etching itself into his mind as clear as his own thoughts. He only knew it wasn’t his own thought because it didn’t sound like him at all. It sounded sweet, like sugar.

_**‘Soon. Soon you’ll be ready.’** _

Curious, very curious. Who was that. Who was he? How soon was soon? Ready for what? So many questions, and he didn’t know the answers. It was...something. He felt something new. _Frustrated_. The thought that was not his own made a new sound. Laughter. It made him feel strange.

**_‘Soon, my pet, very soon.’_ **

Exhaustion had pulled at him, and his eyes had slipped closed without conscious thought. All of this new information, all of this sensory input was taxing. He wanted more, but the effort made him sluggish. He’d rest a little before trying again. There was no need to rush. He had to have _patience_. The thought came from somewhere deep, deep down, soft, yet firm.

He remembered how it had continued in that vein for some time, the monotony broken only by the return of the one with the thoughts that weren’t his own. Eventually he’d learned more, small pieces of information fed to him over time, like puzzle pieces left for him to slot together, answering questions he asked, ones he hadn’t known to ask, and sometimes giving him more.

Where was he? _**‘You are within the Empire.’**_ He didn’t know what the Empire was.

What is the Empire? _**‘A safe place.’**_ Safe? That was true, he felt safe.

Why was he here? _ **‘To grow, to learn, to serve.’**_ Yes, he didn’t feel complete, he still needed to grow a little more, and he knew he still had a lot to learn. Then when he was finally finished he would have a purpose.

Who would he serve? ** _‘Me, only me.’_** Was there anyone else? Could there ever be anyone else? He didn’t know, he only knew Her.

Why? _**‘Because you belong to me.’**_ That made sense.

Who was She? **_‘I am the one who made you.’_** Made him? That made sense as well. Things didn’t just spring from nothing. There was always a catalyst. She was his catalyst then?

Why did She make him? **_‘To put an end to our enemies.’_** He knew he had to have a purpose. Nothing came to be without reason. It just made sense.

Enemies? **_‘Those who would harm me. Harm you.’_** He didn’t understand why anyone would want to harm Her, let alone him.

But why? _ **‘Because they hate us.’**_ He didn’t understand that either. Why did they hate? He hadn’t done anything, he didn’t think She had done anything, She’d been here with him for as long as he could remember.

Why? _ **‘Because they are selfish.’**_ He didn’t understand.

What was selfish? _**‘A desire to serve no one but yourself.’**_ He didn’t understand. He was made to serve the one who had created him. He didn’t want to be selfish. Being selfish meant wanting to harm. He didn’t want to harm the one who made him. He wasn’t selfish.

He listened to every word, absorbed each scrap of knowledge and repeated it to himself when he was alone, so he wouldn’t forget. He didn’t want to forget, forgetting meant he wouldn’t know anything. He needed to _know_.

He didn’t know how long it’d been like that before everything changed. It changed so suddenly, so completely, so jarringly.

He remembered the viscous warmth around him shifting, gently at first, until it suddenly pulled at him. Pulled him down, pulled him until he was no longer cradled, pulled and pulled until there was suddenly nothing left to pull at him, and the warmth he’d known his whole life vanished. Cold. He’d felt so cold, so suddenly. His skin prickled, his body shivered, and he’d curled in on himself instinctively, huddling into the solid surface beneath him where once there had been nothing while too many things pressed against his skin, pushing, pulling, pressing, moving.

It was overwhelming. He couldn’t keep up with the new sensations that crushed him, hurt him. It was the first time he’d ever felt _fear_.

And then he’d opened his eyes and _She_ had been there. The fear had left him, and he’d almost been crushed by a new feeling. _Relief_. If She was there then nothing had really changed.

She had stroked his face gently, possessively.

“Welcome to the world, my pet. _My Kuron.”_  


-~-  


When he looked back on his earliest days, Kuron was often overcome with contempt. He’d been stupid back then, and in more ways than one.

He’d been for all intents and purposes a child experiencing _life_ for the first time, and of course he’d trusted the first other living being he saw.

With what he knew _now_ , he likened it somewhat to an animal imprinting on its parent. _Like a duck_. To some degree, the comparison wasn’t even all that wrong. Galra were more in touch with their, ahem, _wild side_ than say, humans. They were a race that ran on instinct as well as reason and logic. He might not be completely Galra, --hell, he was barely half-- but it was enough to have him dopey eyed for the first person he saw, who unfortunately happened to be more of a witch than a person.

_Haggar_.

The kicker was the fact that she’d done that on damn _purpose_. She’d wanted to be the first thing Kuron saw when he gained awareness. She’d wanted to be the center of his world. She’d wanted his unconditional trust and obedience.  

And boy, she’d had it too.

In the beginning Kuron had been perfectly happy to follow her around like a dog. Eager to please, needy for her attention and affection. She’d say jump, and he’d add a backflip.

The sad thing was, things had actually been a lot easier back then. The only things he had to deal with were lessons, training and the occasional whiplash from Haggar’s _mood swings._

She’d actually been… _tolerable_ then. Knowing what he knew now, he figured it’d all probably been an act, one designed to lure him into complacency or simply to amuse her, he didn’t know. But she’d been some approximation of kind, as weird as it sounded. Creepy, but kind. He may have imprinted on her or whatever the hell it’d been, but she hadn’t really done anything to chase him off, to make him fear her.

No, that came later.

She’d taught him the things she’d deemed necessary to his purpose, and a few things kinda not. She’d had him learn of the Empire and his place within it, brought in others to train his body and mind for combat. She’d made sure he was the perfect little soldier, and he’d been more than happy to make her proud.

Then it all had gone sideways when she’d done the single most stupid thing --in his humble opinion-- that she possibly could have.

She’d given him _memories_.

A whole new life of thoughts, experiences and feelings; everything he’d never had for himself. If they’d been from anyone else everything probably would have been fine. _Probably_.

Except she hadn’t just given him any old memories, oh no, she’d given him the _Champions_.

Oh, Kuron knew of the Champion. Haggar had never really shut up about him, about how magnificent he was in the Pits, how Kuron was literally created in his image for the sole purpose of destroying him and his allies. He’d been all for it too, he’d _wanted_ to please her. Give him Champion’s memories so he could use them to his advantage.

And then he’d woken up on that table --the very one he’d spent so much of his short life on without issue-- and just, _known_.

_The Empire wasn’t safe. Haggar couldn’t be trusted. Hehadtogetout._

He admittedly panicked a little. Or a lot, because for all intents and purposes he’d just remembered being summarily tortured and had his arm cut off by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Except she wasn’t. He had a mother already. Back home, on Earth.

Except that hadn’t been right, either. Nothing had made sense in his head after the download.

_So yeah, he’d panicked._

Apparently it’d been a stupid reaction on his part, because Haggar had _not_ been impressed when he’d punched her in the face, scrambled off the examination table and booked it for the nearest door.

He’d been subdued before he’d even come close to escaping the room, and then he’d experienced his first punishment.

With blood staining her lip, Haggar had snatched his face into her clawed hand and taken a jagged blade to his skin, smirking widely as he’d howled and thrashed against the line of pain she’d carved into the bridge of his nose.

“ _There_.” She’d purred, admiring her handiwork and the blood staining his face. “A much better likeness.”  

It had been Kuron’s first _real_ encounter with pain.  

After, he’d been tossed back into his room --cell, it had always been a cell, he’d just been too stupid to see it-- and left to pick up the pieces that had become his mind. It had been hard, so gods damned hard. Kuron had never had to try and fix himself before, and it was almost impossible to pick out the small, few pieces of _Kuron_ from the more numerous and much larger shards of _Takashi Shirogane_ in his head.

He’d hoped that with time to process he’d succeed, and everything would go back to normal. Time heals all wounds, right?

Wrong.

Kuron had processed alright, and it hadn’t made anything better. It’d made it worse. Instead of going back to normal, he’d _fractured_.

The parts of him that were Takashi rebelled against the parts that were Kuron.

He’d been created to hurt his friends. No, not _his_ , _Takashi’s_. He was part Galra when he should be completely human. He was Haggar’s favoured pet when he should be _fighting_ the Empire. He shouldn’t exist, but he did. He was Takashi, no he was _Kuron_. In the end, he hadn’t known where one began and the other ended, two parts of himself at war with each other, and it’d broken him.

Maybe that had been Haggar’s plan all along, because then she’d given up all pretenses of kindness and tossed him into Takashi’s nightmare. Except Takashi hadn’t been there, _Kuron_ had.

It had been Kuron in the Pits, that time. It had been _Kuron_ fighting tooth and nail for his life, left with no time to think about anything but surviving another day, and he’d been grateful for the distraction. He hadn’t had to fight within himself when he was too busy fighting without. When he was fighting, he was just Kuron.

It became a crutch once he’d come to that realization. It got to the point where he _wanted_ to fight, to walk out into the Pits and be left alone inside his own head, where he didn’t have to _hate himself_ for being what he was.

And in the end, if he became more of a beast than a man well, at least he was still _Kuron_.

He laughed when he lost his arm.

His opponent, three times his size and three times stronger had ripped it clean from his body. It had hurt, gods it had hurt. He’d never seen so much of his own blood. He’d been afraid, terrified that he’d been about to die. But then he’d realized which arm it was, and he’d snorted, before laughing somewhat hysterically as his side was soaked in his blood.

His right arm. Missing from mid-bicep.

_The irony._

His opponent had been supremely unnerved by the little half breed howling in mirth over the bleeding stump of his own arm.

That had just made Kuron laugh harder, right up until he finally passed out.

When he’d come to an undetermined amount of time later, he’d been clean, freshly clothed and sporting a new arm. One he was intimately familiar with, despite the alterations. He hadn’t laughed then. He’d just tried to rip the fucking thing off. When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried to destroy it against the solid metal walls of his cell. He’d punched, rammed and even clawed at the wall in an attempt to do _something_ to get it off --the clawed finger tips were new, it’d sat well with the Galra part of him.-- It hadn’t worked. He’d just made his new stump ache.

He might have cried a little, after. All that fighting, all that effort to keep _Kuron_ separate from _Takashi_ and look what it’d gotten him. Another thing to liken him to the original. Another reminder of what he was; a cheap imitation.

Kuron’s training --his own from the empire and Takashi’s from the Garrison-- had seen him survive in the Pits, but the addition of his new arm with its claws and quintessence powered heat had seen him do more than simply survive. Combined with his ferocity and single minded determination to live, he became _unstoppable_.       

He became the Champion.

He could never decide how he felt about that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Love it, hate it?
> 
> The crappy art is done by me, btw. You can find all of my various ADITN stuff over [Here](https://shiro-fenrir.tumblr.com/tagged/aditn).


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to judge time when confined to a ship in space.

He’d never seen anything remotely like a clock any time he’d been moved around the ship. The only thing he had to go off of was his body. His internal clock was no doubt way off, but he could still judge the passage of time by his sleep cycle, when he was fed, when he was escorted from his cell to the Pits.

His visits with Haggar never failed to throw him off, however. He could be under her tender mercies for hours, sometimes days.

But, he figured it couldn’t have been more than a year since he’d first opened his eyes in his growing chamber.  
  


A single year wasn’t really that long when you thought about it, but to Kuron it seemed like a lifetime. In a lot of ways, for him it was. He’d only been _alive_ for a year, even if he had over twenty something years worth of memories. Well, that might have been a bit of an overestimation on his part. After the initial download and subsequent trauma, he’d lost a few of them. More than a few.

It’s not something he’d lost sleep over, though, and it wasn’t even as if he’d never forgotten something before. Takashi himself had quite the number of blank spots, so it wasn’t that surprising that Kuron would, too. Haggar had that effect on people, apparently.

It made things easier. Made his head just that much quieter. He hasn’t had to fight to remember himself for a while, now. He’d found that glorious middle ground between where Kuron began and Takashi ended. It hadn’t been easy, and he’d had to start over again more than once, but he’d done it.

He was Kuron. No one else.

_“Champion! Champion! Champion!”_

“Ugh.” Kuron grimaced as he flicked alien blood from his claws and glared half-heartedly down at the corpse at his feet. He had no idea what the fuck it was besides ugly --with a capital _yeesh_ \--, but it’d been a major pain in the ass, not to mention a complete dick. He certainly wouldn’t be shedding any tears over it, that's for sure.

The crowd was still screeching and chanting his title, but Kuron ignored them with all the grace of a disdainful cat and turned back to the doors he’d entered from. The match was over, he’d won --of course-- and he wanted very badly to clean the sticky alien blood from his skin. He prowled from the Pits and walked straight past his escort in his quest for the freshers, not even pausing to regard the phasers aimed at his back as the drones all but chased after him.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. Haggar absolutely hated it, especially after all the lessons she’d subjected him to. _Salute. Bow. Respect your betters. Obey._ Yeah, they were just drones, but he did it with living, breathing members of the Empire as well. He just got too much enjoyment out of stepping on Haggar’s toes when it got back to her. There was a limit of course. He could only get away with so much before she grew fed up with his disobedience and punished him, but he just didn’t care anymore. He was used to it. What was there for her to do to him that she hadn’t already done, anyway?

_Oh, there were so many things, and it honestly terrified him down to the core, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop._  

Kuron bypassed another drone in the hall before he finally arrived at the freshers and wasted little time in stripping out of his ruined clothing. The prisoner's garb was standard issue, black and ratty --with complimentary bloodstains-- but did next to shit for temperature control, honestly the only thing it was good for was preventing everyone from getting an eyeful of Kuron’s junk. Once the clothes were peeled off Kuron flung them at the nearest drone just because he could. The soiled fabric landed over the machines head with a wet splat, and remained there as the drone did nothing.

The freshers themselves were a very basic prison set up; open floor with a few nozzles sticking out of the walls at even intervals and a one setting button beneath to turn the water on and off.

When he said ‘one setting’ he wasn’t kidding.

Kuron braced himself and slapped the button, promptly hissing through his teeth as he was pelted over the head non-to-gently with arctic water. _Ugh_.

He rushed through his usual routine of scrubbing his hands over his head to clean his hair --maintained in a particular style because _Haggar_ \-- before using the scentless bar of whatever-the-hell-passes-for-soap-here to attack the bloodstains and grit on his skin. He’d give the witch one thing, _she preferred her toys clean and odor free_. He wasn’t about to complain.

His teeth chattered noisily in his head by the time he finally slapped the wall panel again, and he all but darted to the other side of the room to retrieve his fresh set of clothing while shaking off as much water as he could. He pulled the pants on first --Haggar or one of her Druids had the uncanny habit of catching him with his pants down-- before tugging the shirt over his head. He scrubbed the claws of his right hand through his hair in an attempt to shake out the excess water and turned for the exit to return to his cell, only to jump as he was confronted with a Druid.

“Called it.” He grumbled to himself as he regarded the Druid warily. It was never a good thing when one of Haggar’s flock came for him. Maybe he’d reached his quota for disobedience after all and he was about to be punished?

Apprehension niggled at the back of his mind before Kuron stomped it out. Weakness was never a good thing to show in the Empire, least of all in front of a _Druid_.

“You have been moved.” The Druid told him without fanfare, sounding for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. Kuron idly entertained the thought of the Druid being afraid of him, but he knew better. Haggar’s little posse always turned their noses up in his presence, haughty bastards that they were. That also begged the question of why she’d sent one of her minions and not a drone. Then the Druid’s words caught up with him.

“What do you mean, moved? And why?” He asked suspiciously. The Druid stared at him from behind his mask before replying, and Kuron could hear the smirk in the words.

“An opportunity has arisen for you to prove your usefulness.”

Kuron frowned deeply at that and flexed his claws. That didn’t sound good, not at all. The last time he had been called upon to ‘prove his usefulness’, he’d had to make an example of a traitor in the Pits. The rebel Galra had put up a decent fight, and a part of Kuron hadn’t wanted to kill him just for that alone, but it was him or his opponent. That’s how it always was. In the Pits, there could be only one survivor.

“I don’t see why I need to be moved for that.” He tried. If he could get more information he could plan accordingly; the last thing he wanted to do was walk into another one of Haggar’s twisted games. She enjoyed those a lot more then Kuron did, considering he was almost always the focal point.

Sometimes, he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still in one. Sometimes when he first woke up he was sure he was still trapped in his head.

“It is not your place to question, only to obey.” The Druid snapped, and Kuron inwardly sighed. Flying blind it was.

“Apologies.” He ground out as he forced himself to bow his head in submission. The Druid hummed, smug, before he turned on his heel and made for the door, his robes moving like water.

“Come, dog.”

Kuron bared his sharp teeth at the Druids back as he reluctantly did as he was told, stalking cautiously after him. It wasn’t like he had a choice, if he resisted he’d either be bodily dragged by drones or punished, and when he regained consciousness after he’d find himself wherever they’d wanted him.

That was how his first few fights in the Pits had started.

The halls were eerily silent as he was lead deeper into the ship and towards the holding section. His cell was in the same area, but after a moment Kuron realized he was being led somewhere different.

Actually, this looked an awful lot like the way to _solitary_.

His heart rate skyrocketed, and Kuron barely stopped himself from digging his heels in. Solitary. Why was he being taken to solitary? He was only ever dragged down there after a session with Haggar if he’d royally fucked up. It was just a cell, but it had no bars or even a visible door, it was a cube of space with very little light and a silence so crushing you could hear your own heart beat. What light there was cast distorted shadows in the corners, played tricks on the mind and eyes.

Kuron slowed as the door came into view, sweat beading on the back of his neck. Unbidden, memories of his last stay in that room assaulted him.

_LetmeoutletmeoutpleaseI’llobeypleaseLadyHaggar!_

He jerked away from the memory with a visible flinch, breathing noticeably faster than he had been before. In front of him, the Druid made a mocking sound deep in his chest as he stood beside the still sealed door, flanked by almost a dozen drones --when had they turned up? No, they’d already been there, waiting-- . Kuron swallowed and fixed a glare to his face as his claws flexed nervously.

“I haven’t done anything.” He growled. The Druid waved a dismissive, clawed hand.

“Regardless, you will go in.” He said. Kuron grit his teeth to bite back a snarl. He had no doubt that if he had fur it’d be bristling right then, as it was the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he broke out into a cold sweat.

_He didn’t want to go in._ Gods, he really didn’t. Why was this even a thing right now anyway? He hadn’t done anything to warrant it! Right?

He darted his eyes nervously around the hall in the hopes of finding Haggar lurking, she’d at least tell him why this was happening, she always delighted in drilling _exactly_ what he’d done wrong into his head.

He felt like a cornered animal and they hadn’t even opened the _door_ yet.

As if sensing his reluctance, several of the drones converged around him, and Kuron tensed. They weren’t giving him a choice, they were serious about this. They wanted him in that room for some reason, and every instinct Kuron had was shrieking that this was _not_ a good thing.

“Kuron.” The Druid said warningly, and the clone flinched. Shit, this was gonna happen regardless of what he did, wasn’t it?

Abruptly, his legs tensed as the urge to run hit him, but before he could even decide if that was a viable option or not --it never was, but he could dream-- metal hands clamped over his shoulders and it was like a switch flipped inside him.

He snarled and tried to lash out with his claws, only to shout in frustration when his arm refused to do more than give an aborted twitch. They’d locked it down. Smart bastards.

The drones took the opportunity to grab his arms and twist them painfully behind his back, their grips on his shoulders almost grinding his bones together as they shoved him towards the door. Kuron tried to dig his heels, but when that proved ineffective he tried to throw his weight back, kicking his legs in an attempt to either hit one of them or wrench himself out of their grip.

The sounds he made in his panic were anything but human.

The door hissed open as they neared it and Kuron shouted wordlessly as he tried to brace his feet on either side in an attempt to prevent being shove in. It was a futile struggle and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want to be crushed under that silence, he didn’t want to come apart under the twisted shadows that dwelled within.

Without warning, a metal fist connected with his stomach and Kuron gagged before going slack in their hold. The drones jumped on the moment of stillness to toss him through the door, and Kuron hit the floor with a ragged exhale before scrambling onto all fours to twist and launch himself back at the them. The door slid closed before he could reach it, and the clone howled as he slammed into it full force. He reared back and threw his shoulder into the metal again and again, knowing it was useless even as he switched to clawing at the seams like an animal.

His shoulder throbbed hotly in protest of the treatment, and the nails of his left hand stung as they chipped against the metal, but he barely felt it beneath the rising hysteria.

“Hey!”

Kuron froze, forehead pressed against the ice cold surface of the door and hands paused mid-claw on the metal.

“You need to calm down.” Someone said from behind him. The voice pinged familiar, but in his panicked state he couldn’t figure out why.

Kuron blinked at the metal in front of him before slowly twisting his head to peer over his shoulder. It was dark in the cell, but Kuron’s faintly glowing eyes cut through the gloom to spot a figure sat leaning against the back wall. The figure shifted and stood, and Kuron’s eyes widened in shock as their features registered in his brain.

Oh. Oh God.

_  
“Takashi?”_

 


	3. Chapter 3

The first time he ever saw himself in a mirror, Kuron hadn't given it much thought. He’d known he was a recreation of the Champion, so of course he’d bare this face, this body. Even if some things were slightly off. _\--‘Such pretty eyes, it’s almost a shame I have to fix them.’_ She never did--

It was just a fact, one he hadn’t been self aware enough to question at the time.  

Once he’d received the Champions --no, _Takashi’s_ , he hated being called that-- memories however, he’d gained a new understanding of his existence and as a result, his thoughts had... _changed_.    
  


Something Kuron had once accepted as a simple fact had twisted into the sickening certainty that everything about him was stolen. There was nothing he had that was his own, it was all taken without Takashi’s consent.

Kuron was the fruit of violation, not just against nature, but another person.

Takashi’s memories ensured that Kuron was well aware of that fact, and his self loathing ensured he never forgot it.

There had only ever been one saving grace for Kuron, one thing to cling to in the turbulent sea that was his tremulous grasp on sanity. The steady certainty that it would never really matter, because Haggar had miscalculated somewhere, and amidst the fallout Kuron had unconsciously seized an opportunity.

_Takashi would never have to know._

He’d bucked the weight of expectation and zigged when he was supposed to zag.

He saw to his own failing. Because if he was defective, his purpose would be rendered null and void.

 _Takashi would never have to know_.

Haggar had tried to rectify it, of course. His tenure in the Pits had been an attempt to break him down, reshape him into something more easily moulded.

Mistake number fucking two.

It hadn’t worked on Takashi, so why would it work on Kuron? He was a fake, but on some level deep down there was a part of him that whispered in his darkest hours, alone in his cell with nothing but his uncertainty and self loathing for company, a thought that was his own and not, soft yet firm; _Fight_.

So he did. He fought for his middle ground, with fists, fangs and claw he fought to survive even if he knew it would’ve been so much easier to give up. He resisted the storm inside his own head and painted pieces of himself in the blood he was fed in the Pits, so he could always tell himself apart from the shards that were Takashi.

So he would always know he was _Kuron_ , and that he wouldn’t bend for Haggar or anyone. He’d continue to buck that weight, he’d continue to zig instead of zag, all so he could keep his one grace.

_Takashi would never have to know._

“Takashi?”

And in one instant, that grace slipped from his fingers like smoke, and the panic he’d felt at being forced into his own personal hell melted away to be replaced with a deep seated ache that left him feeling unbearably hollow.

The figure that stood on the other side of the dimly lit cell stepped forward hesitantly, cautiously, and Kuron had to fight the sudden and inexplicable urge to coware away into the corner like a dog expecting its masters boot.

Inwardly, he prayed, --somewhat hysterically-- that it was too dark for Takashi’s very human eyes to see just what had been tossed into the cell with him. Just let him think he was sharing space with a Galra, --he had no doubt the faint gold glow of his eyes was obvious in the gloom-- but Kuron had long since figured out that his luck was pretty shit.

Takashi stepped closer, almost to the centre of the cell where the purple light was brightest, and Kuron was abruptly made aware of the fact that he was still wearing his Paladin armor, sans helmet. Idly, he wondered if they’d been stupid enough to leave his arm alone too. Kuron’s had been locked down, and was now clunky and somewhat useless as a result.

“So I wasn’t dreaming.” Takashi breathed in stunned awe, and Kuron edged back into the door as his original stared fixedly at his face with wide eyes, as if Kuron hadn’t just been fearfully hoping he was the only one with a working set of eyes.

“Sometimes I thought I was going mad but-” Takashi broke off and rocked back on his heels, wide eyes still taking in Kuron, clearly in a state of shock.

For his part, Kuron stared back while trying his damndest to meld with the wall, because this was all too much. _Takashi wasn’t supposed to know._ He was overwhelmed and had to clench his teeth against the desperate apologies that wanted to come tumbling out of his mouth even as his insides twisted with nausea and the hollowness in his chest threatened to collapse in a rush of shame.

_Takashi wasn’t supposed to know._

Something must have shown on his face, because the shock melted off Takashi’s and was replaced with a concerned frown, and Kuron stared at it incredulously. Of all expressions he’d ever imagined to cross the Black Paladins face at his discovery, _concern_ had never been one of them. Anger? Yes. Disgust? Most definitely. Concern? _Never_.

“You’re freaking out.” Takashi blurted, as if he’d just come to some great big conclusion, and Kuron’s body reacted without express permission from his brain. He jabbed a finger at his original and hissed;

“Yes I’m fucking _freaking out_ , why aren’t you?!” Takashi’s hands flew up as if trying to calm a cornered animal, and abruptly Kuron realized that it was an apt description.

“Hey, _hey_ , it’s ok.” The Paladin soothed, and he actually looked like he was forcing himself not to get any closer. _No sudden movements._

“It’s ok.” Takashi repeated calmly, and Kuron felt himself relaxing despite himself. Goddamnit, how was he doing that? _Why_ was he doing that? How was he so fucking calm right now?!

Except he already knew the answer to that. A leader didn’t have the luxury of being anything _but_ in uncertain situations, and Takashi Shirogane had always been particularly good at _bullshitting_. He wasn’t calm at all, inside he was probably panicking just as much as Kuron, but unlike his clone he could compartmentalize and focus on the issues at hand.

If he was outwardly calm then _he was doing it for Kuron._

It didn’t make any sense. Except it did, because he actually _knew_ Takashi if he actually thought about it, and he wasn’t anything like Haggar had tried to make him believe. He wasn’t the enemy.

“I’ve kind of...known about you for a while?” The other man admitted almost sheepishly after he was sure Kuron had eased down from the edge of panic, and Kuron blinked, because _what_.

“Or at least, I suspected.” The Paladin muttered. Kuron blinked again.

“What?” Takashi swallowed thickly and scratched the back of his head while suddenly looking anywhere but at Kuron.

“I’ve been having...dreams.” He replied, and Kuron tilted his head.

“Dreams.” He parroted, tone flat. Takashi sighed and dropped his hand.

“Yeah. Dreams. About you?” He floundered. Because _that_ made sense. Kuron stared at him expectantly, and Takashi folded his arms defensively.

“Well I’m not a fucking mind reader, Takashi, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than _dreams_.” Then, despite the horrible state of affairs right then, Kuron still managed to stick his foot in his mouth;

“I’m flattered, really.” Kuron snapped his mouth shut so quickly his teeth clacked, and inwardly cursed. A habit Haggar had never managed to break him of. At first, his cheek had amused her, now? Not so much. He always told himself it’d come back to bite him in the ass one day.

And yet strangely, something like _relief_ clouded Takashi’s face for a split second, and Kuron almost wanted to ask what _that_ was about.

“The first time it happened, it felt like I was...floating.” Takashi said at length. He clenched and unclenched his hands, a nervous tick that was echoed by Kuron’s flex of claws.

“After that it was just...flashes. I’d go to sleep and suddenly...it was like I was somewhere else. Someone else, except...not.” The other man looked vaguely disturbed by the recounting, and if he meant what Kuron thought he meant, he didn’t blame him.

He remained silent.

“At first I thought it was just memories from my time in Galra custody. But after a little while I realized that couldn’t be the case. Everything was too vivid, ordered, like _I was actually there_ -”

“Oh God.” Kuron wheezed as his hands flew to his head to tangle into his hair. His legs shook beneath him, so Kuron allowed himself to slide down the wall to sit on the hard metal floor. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. It was too much. Meeting Takashi was one thing, finding out that they’d been sharing some kind of… connect _i_ on was a-fucking-nother.

Did Haggar know about this? Somehow he doubted it, or she would have tried to make him reverse it so they could spy on Voltron somehow.

“How long?” Kuron rasped, and Takashi hesitated. Kuron didn’t want to look at him, kept his eyes firmly on his bare feet. He did when the other remained silent, however, and the pity in his eyes was answer enough.

“Fuck.” He said tonelessly. Takashi swayed where he stood, indecisive, before seemingly coming to a decision and stepping towards him. Kuron flinched before he could help it, but Takashi pretended not to notice and stopped at his side, before turning and sliding down the wall to side beside him. His armor made an obnoxious squealing noise as it scraped against the wall, but it went ignored. The press of his thigh against Kuron’s however, did not, and it took a very conscious effort for the clone to not spring away like a startled cat.

Touch was a prelude to pain.

“It’s not your fault.” Takashi said at length, and Kuron snorted.

“‘Course not.” He agreed easily, before slanting his eyes sideways to peer at his double.

“Doesn’t make it any easier, though.” Takashi sighed quietly, and dropped his gaze to his boots.

“No, I don’t suppose it does.” He replied.

A beat passed in silence, and Kuron slowly allowed himself to relax against the wall. It was still a lot to process, but he didn’t feel overwhelmed anymore. Takashi’s presence had rattled him to the core, but now, sitting beside him and radiating a quiet sort of sadness, it was almost soothing.

The quiet dragged on, somehow not awkward, and Kuron turned his thoughts to Takashi’s words. He’d dreamed of Kuron, somehow. From what little he’d revealed about the details, it even sounded as though he’d been experiencing things in _Kuron’s_ perspective, seeing his life through his clones eyes. Crazy didn’t even _begin_ to cover it, and the implications of that made Kuron both incredibly uncomfortable and a little...relieved? Was that the right word for it?

He was glad he didn’t have to explain himself.

Takashi somehow already knew. Kuron wasn’t some kind of evil replication waiting in the dark to kill him and his friends. He _could_ have been, once, but Kuron had done everything in his power to prevent it. He’d railed against the very thought.

But there was a time he hadn’t, though. In the beginning, he very well could have been just that. The Empires perfect assassin. He’d have killed Takashi and the other Paladins without a second thought, because that was his purpose.

Now, though, he’d sooner rip out his own throat. He might not _be_ Takashi, but he had his memories. Kuron knew he wouldn’t have been able to raise his hand against people he remembered connections with. Especially not them.

Keith, Pidge, Lance, Hunk, Coran and Allura. They weren’t _his_ , not really, but a part of him had claimed them anyway.

“We’re going to get out of here. Me _and_ you.” Takashi said out of nowhere, and Kuron abandoned his thoughts to eye his double sideways. Maybe he’d heard wrong? Takashi eyed him back, brows set in determination, and Kuron knew then that he’d heard correct, and that there was probably no changing his mind.

Maybe he’d been doing some heavy thinking of his own? Crap, Kuron somehow didn’t see this ending well at all.

“You realize I was literally created to kill you, right?” He tried anyway. Takashi shrugged.

“You haven’t yet.” He said as he lifted an arm to poke away at the display on his forearm. It was dead, so maybe the Galra weren’t complete idiots. Kuron idly wondered if this was actually some sort of Druid induced fever dream.

“You’re taking this all rather well.” The clone informed him. Takashi gave up on his suits computer and instead graced his clone with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

“Would you rather I freak out and attack you?” Kuron shrugged.

“It’d make more sense than whatever... _this_ is.” He said as he gestured half-hazardly at Takashi, whose brows scrunched together in amused offense.

“You just gestured to all of me.” He retorted, and something niggled at the back of Kuron’s mind, a memory no doubt, but he shoved it aside.

“Takashi, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a clone. Of _you_ , and not even a very good one! I was made to infiltrate and destroy Voltron for the Galra Empire, I’m not some hapless stray you can take home with you!” He hissed. Takashi grimaced, and Kuron’s lip curled in victory. It was only a matter of time before the Paladin saw him for what he really was. Bad news. He couldn’t just-

“Shiro.” Takashi said. Kuron blanched.

“ _What_?” Takashi shifted on the floor and frowned faintly.

“It’s Shiro. Only my mom calls me Takashi. Or Keith. Then I really know I’m in trouble” He mumbled. Kuron stared at him incredulously, and felt like he’d been doing that a lot in the last hour or two since he’d been tossed in kicking and screaming.

“You’re fucking insane.” He stated somewhat warily, and Takashi, or Shiro or what-the-fuck-ever he wanted to be called, scowled without any heat.

“The mouth on you.” He muttered, sounding both amused and scandalized at once. Abruptly, Kuron is reminded that he was cloned from a goddamn boy scout, and just like that, the situation is explained.

“I can’t go with you.” He really kind of wanted to, actually. Like, a lot. But he wasn’t stupid, not anymore. He knew nothing good would come of it. It was too dangerous for everyone involved, and if the others didn’t turn him away or kill him, the knowledge that they’d never accept him as anything other than a Galra engineered fake _would_.

“You can.” Shiro retorted firmly, and Kuron abruptly shoved himself from the floor and stalked away from his double, claws flexing and jaw tense as he paced the other side of the cell like a caged lion.

“I _won’t_.” Kuron snarled, only to be somewhat startled when Shiro growled back.

“ _Kuron_ -” He persisted, and Kuron froze, eyes fixed on the Paladin in horror.

“How do you know that name?” He asked harshly. He hadn’t mentioned it, and even if they did share some weird connection it was rare that Kuron was ever actually referred to by _name_. Only Haggar used it with any kind of regularity, her voice caressing each syllable, mocking him. Shiro’s memories ensured he knew what it meant, Haggar’s humor left a lot to be desired.

A clone named Clone. Original, Haggar. The name was his only in the sense that he clung to it as a sense of self, because the alternative was Takashi or Shiro and that just didn’t fly in any universe.

Shiro looked at him somewhat guiltily, and Kuron bared his teeth at him. The action seemed to surprise the other, but he recovered quickly and said;

“Pidge.” As if that explained everything, and if one knew Pidge, it kind of did.

“The dreams started...happening more frequently, and sometimes not even when I was asleep.” Shiro admitted, and Kuron put his fangs away to continue pacing warily as Shiro fumbled with his explanation.      

“There were a couple of times that it got really...intense.” Kuron wondered what that was supposed to mean, but a quick glance at Shiro said he was better off not asking. The other man looked sick, and angry, and Kuron idly wondered if he’d watched as Kuron slaughtered innocent strangers in the Pits.

“The others noticed something off. They pushed, and eventually I just...caved. I told them. Not everything!” He added quickly at Kuron’s horrified grimace.

“But enough to get them worried. Pidge got the idea to hack into the Empire’s archives, and she eventually she found a file. Project Kuron.” He finished, and Kuron shook his head as he slowed his restless pacing to stand in the opposite corner, feeling oddly calmer now that he had the height advantage over Shiro, who hadn’t moved from the floor.

“I didn’t know.” Kuron said at length. Shiro watched him wordlessly, patiently waiting for him to continue. The clone shifted uncomfortably.

“About the connection, or whatever.” He really hadn’t. The only dreams he’d ever had were nightmares from both his own and Takas- _Shiro’s_ memories. He’d remember dreaming about going about life on the Castle of Lions as if he were there, in Shiro’s place.

“I kind of figured that out.” Shiro said tiredly, rubbing at his temples. Kuron could sympathize. All the recent stress and revelations were building an ache behind his eyes that threatened to be the migraine from hell.

“I’m still getting you out of here.” Shiro stated with all the confidence of the Black Paladin of Voltron. Kuron was not moved. In fact, he just felt tired. Exhausted. He was wrung out, physically --he’d only just gotten out of the Pits a couple of hours ago-- mentally, and emotionally. He’d had a long day, damn it, and if Shiro continued to be an obstinate jackass, it’d only get longer.

“It’s not that easy.” He sighed grimly, and Shiro eyed him steadily as the clone slid down the wall to sit opposite him.

“You haven’t given up.” The Paladin stated plainly, and Kuron scoffed. Shiro’s eyes were oddly intense even in the gloom, and Kuron dimly wondered how the hell he was pulling it off when he probably couldn’t see five feet in front of his face. He was probably only managing to keep eye contact because Kuron’s eyes _glowed in the fucking dark._

“I know you haven’t.” Shiro told him. Kuron folded his arms, pointedly ignoring the way his right was clumsy in the motion.

“You don’t know me.” The clone drawled. Shiro shrugged.

“Not really, but I know how you think.” He replied, and Kuron’s expression twisted in disbelief. Shiro shrugged again and tapped his temple.

“You’re not me. I know that. You know that. But we have a lot in common.” Kuron cocked a scarred eyebrow.

“Besides the obvious, you mean.” He said sarcastically. Shiro’s eyes glinted oddly for a moment.

“You haven’t given up. So stop thinking like you have.” Kuron scowled at him. Shiro stared steadily back and said, soft yet firm;

“ _Fight_.”     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Uh. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> How was that?


	4. Chapter 4

Kuron didn’t know how long they sat like that after Shiro’s journey into the profound --he made it sound so _easy_ \-- but it was long enough for Kuron’s exhaustion to really catch up to him. He didn’t know what Shiro had been up to before he’d been summarily tossed into a cell, and frankly didn’t much care --he’s in one piece, that’s all he needed to know-- but Kuron had been fighting in the Pits before this little detour, and his body was reminding him of that fact.

The adrenaline had long since worn off and the various aches and pains it’d smothered were coming to the fore, and Kuron winced as his ankle reminded him quite abruptly that he’d probably twisted it at some point. Along with the ache in his shoulder from his panicked attack on the door, his ribs also throbbed dully, likely bruised. He was tired and battered, and all he really wanted to do was go back to his cell and curl up on his cot to sleep for a week.  
  


There was nothing to sleep on in here besides the very solid floor, and Kuron really didn’t want to add a sore back and crick in his neck to his list of hurts. His cot was by no means anything close to a decent bed, but it was padded just enough to be preferable to the _floor_.   

He also didn’t particularly want to leave himself so vulnerable while there was a potential threat locked in the room with him.

Not that Shiro was really much of a threat, Kuron was pretty confident that he could subdue him --not kill-- if the need arose, but that didn’t help his nerves in the least. He’d never had to share living space before, he’d always been isolated from the other prisoners aboard, kept seperate if not for his own safety, than the prisoners. A fair point really, Kuron wouldn’t put it past himself to rip out a few throats if the wrong person pissed him off, but that was beside the point.

He healed faster than a human --byproduct of the Galra DNA or Haggar’s fiddling?-- but he needed to rest, first. Usually by the time he woke the various aches and scrapes were gone, anything more serious than that taking another day or so to heal. True injury, the kind that hindered performance or threatened his life was usually seen to by the Druids.

A potentially twisted ankle didn’t fall under that criteria though. If Shiro was so damned determined to take Kuron with him he’d have to deal with any probable limping on Kuron’s part. Or you know, carry him. This was even assuming the Paladin had a workable exit plan however, and Kuron had various memories that didn’t much fill him with confidence.

Shiro and exit plans had the unfortunate habit of not seeing eye to eye. The same went for Voltron in general, really. Plans were great and all, but only if they _worked_.  

They couldn’t just rely on the speeding train that went by _Keith_ , even with a Shiro shaped carrot on the end of the stick.

_Ugh_ , he really needed sleep.

“You should get some rest, I can keep watch.” Shiro said from the other side of the cell, and Kuron’s head jerked up from where it’d been tilting towards his chest.

“M’fine.” He slurred, --what, was he a mind reader now?-- straightening his back against the wall and cracking his neck. Shiro cocked a brow at him.

“You look like you’re about to keel over.” The Paladin observed. Kuron snorted.

“Helluva day.” He replied gruffly, and scowled when Shiro’s brows drew down in concern.

“I said I’m _fine_.” He snapped. Shiro raised his hands in surrender at the hostile tone, and Kuron ground his teeth in frustration.

“So what’s the plan anyway?” He asked after a lengthy pause. He needed to keep talking or he probably _would_ keel over. Shiro blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“Huh?” Kuron stared at him.

“The plan? To get out of here?” He specified, waving his hands around in a vague gesture. Even in the gloom, Kuron’s eyes picked up the faint hint of red creeping up from under the collar of Shiro’s armor.

“You’re fucking kidding.” He deadpanned in response, and Shiro cleared his throat.

“In my defence, this?” He gestured at the cell at large and then at Kuron himself.

“Was never part of the plan.” Kuron’s expression darkened, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest to keep from clenching his hands.

It figured. Of course Shiro wasn’t here to bail his ass out, despite all those pretty words. _Too good to be true and all that_. Shit, good thing he hadn’t actually gotten his hopes up or anything.

“As far as Pidge was able to tell, this was only supposed to be a research outpost.” Shiro continued, oblivious to Kuron’s rapidly darkening mood- not that he could probably make out his expression in the gloom, anyway.

“We never expected that they’d actually hold you here. Just information about the project.” Kuron blinked, eyebrows jumping up in surprise.

“You mean you _were_ actually looking for me?” He asked in disbelief. Shiro nodded.

“After the dreams and Pidge’s find in the archives that confirmed your existence, we just...decided to try and find you.” The Paladin replied with a shrug, and Kuron tilted his head in confusion.

“But _why_?” He asked. Shiro eyed him for a moment before smiling somewhat grimly.

“No one deserves this kind of life, Kuron.” He said. Kuron swallowed.

“Not even me?” He asked faintly. Shiro shook his head sadly.

“Especially not you.” He even sounded as though he believed it, Kuron decided as he watched him carefully. He said it as if Kuron _hadn’t_ been created to destroy everything he held dear. But this was creeping into dangerous territory --really, he just couldn’t deal with it right now-- and he still didn’t have an answer to his --very relevant-- question.

“So,” Kuron started as he gestured at the cell walls with his chin.

“Judging by the obvious lack of quaking floors and distant explosions, I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you rode the Green Lion in?” He asked. It was the only viable explanation Kuron could think of, really. Hell, it’s what _he_ would have done, the Green Lion’s cloaking ability was perfect for infiltration, after all --something he’d know a little something about--. Shiro’s head jerked up in surprise, and Kuron tilted his head.

“That's- How did you know about the Green Lion?” Shiro asked somewhat suspiciously. Kuron uncrossed his arms to jam his thumb and finger into his closed eyes, breath abruptly escaping from between his teeth in a low hiss. Shit. _Shiro didn’t know._

Maybe it’d been too much to hope for that Team Voltron had been aware of _everything_ concerning his existence, not the fucking bare minimum.

“Kuron?” Shiro prompted, uncertain as the clone dropped his hand to bare his teeth in a parody of a grin. --More of a vicious grimace really--

“Haggar gave me your memories.” He stated, and watched warily as Shiro’s eyebrows jumped into his hairline before rapidly dropping to twist into a dark frown.

“What.” He said. Kuron swallowed and shifted against the wall.

“I wasn’t always such a nice guy, you know.” The clone informed his double sarcastically. Shiro’s dark frown didn’t abate, and Kuron flexed his claws nervously.

“In the beginning I was...different. I don’t wanna say _evil_ per say but,” He shrugged.

“I wasn’t exactly one of the ‘good guys’ for lack of a better term. As far as I was concerned everything Haggar told me about myself and the world was gospel.” He scratched his neck and snorted.

“I was a moron, is what I was.” He grumbled. Shiro’s frown eased only slightly, but he was still staring at him expectantly, and Kuron sighed explosively. Why did the conversation keep getting away from him?

“Then Haggar got the bright idea to download Takashi.exe into my head.” He tapped his temple with a claw.

“Not the most pleasant experience, and that’s not even taking into account the knee jerk panic of suddenly being someone else.” He shuddered faintly as he remembered those first few moments. One second he’d been Kuron, Haggar’s favored pet, the next he’d been Takashi Shirogane getting his arm taken from him, and then he was a messy amalgamation of the two and _nothing had made sense._

“I was a fucking mess.” Kuron admitted, eyes fixed on the floor off to the side, pointedly not watching whatever expressions were crossing Shiro’s face at his tale.

“Safe to say I lost my shit. Too many conflicting thoughts, beliefs. It’s like I was at war with my own mind...” He trailed off as his mind threatened to drag him back into the memories of those times. The first days after the download, when he’d been at his worst, knee deep in insanity with the water rising. The chaos and confusion that had only been quieted by violence and bloodshed.

He’d become little more than an animal, snapping and snarling at shadows. His opponents had probably been more terrified of _him_ than their impending death. It’d taken time for him to level out, and when he had he’d been...not ok.

Psychotic breaks had that effect on people, evidently.

Kuron was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by an odd noise from Shiro. When he looked, the Paladin had clamped a hand over the lower half of his face, looking faintly ill. Kuron frowned, concerned despite himself.

“You ok?” He asked as he pulled his knees up to rest his elbows on them --his right arm was still stiff as hell--. Shiro jerked his head in what could possibly pass as a nod on some distant planet, but he didn’t look up from where he was staring wide eyed at the floor. He looked as if he’d finally worked something out, and was horrified with the results. Kuron opened his mouth to ask, but no words escaped him.

He probably didn’t want to know. Not really. He...could probably guess if he tried, but somehow he really didn’t think he wanted to.

Kuron remained silent, waiting anxiously for Shiro to come out of whatever fresh hell he’d stumbled into. He didn’t know what else to do _but_ wait it out.

The cell was quiet but for his own rhythmic breathing and Shiro’s shaky exhales, so it was almost a surprise when the silence was suddenly broken by a snarl that actually caused the resident Paladin to jump.

Kuron sighed and dropped his head back against the wall with a faint _thunk_. Great. Now he was tired, sore _and_ hungry. Nothing new.

“Sorry.” He said belatedly, glancing at Shiro, who seemed to have been yanked out of whatever funk he’d been in by the odd sound. Thankfully, any trace of the previous horror that had been present on his face was gone, replaced instead with a look of incredulous amusement. Kuron shrugged. He was hungry, so what? --Though he’d never have pegged his ravious appetite to work as an icebreaker--

“Yes.” Shiro said after a beat, and Kuron blinked in mild confusion at the seeming non sequitur. Shiro swallowed and shook himself not unlike a dog for a moment.

“We used the Green Lion.” He said. Kuron nodded, oddly pleased with himself. He’d been right, after all. But hang on, if they’d use the Green Lion then-

“Where’s Pidge?” Kuron asked quickly, dropping his knees to sit up properly. He didn’t think he could smell her on Shiro --did he even know her scent?-- and she certainly wasn’t in the cell with them. Had she gotten out before the Galra could grab her? Or had they captured her and just taken her somewhere else? Was she even _alive_? He needed to get out of this damn cell and make sure she was ok. She was so goddamn _tiny_ and it would be so easy for them to-

“She’s alright.” Shiro replied loudly, and Kuron belatedly realized he’d tensed and was currently digging furrows into the floor with his claws. He forced his body to relax and lifted his claws away from the floor --the elbow joint was still stiff, when were they gonna lay off--

Shiro was _smiling_ at him.

Why?

“I’ll admit, getting caught wasn’t part of the plan, but I’d say it worked out pretty well, considering.” The Paladin said, still smiling and seemingly oblivious to Kuron eying him like one might a snake.

“So that’s your exit plan then.” Kuron said as Shiro’s oddly calm demeanor in the face of imprisonment started making a weird kind of sense.

“Sit tight and wait for Pidge to get her ass in gear and call in the cavalry?” He asked skeptically. Shiro’s response was to shrug with one shoulder and smile somewhat sheepishly. Kuron’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. This...was not a plan he’d expect from Shiro. This was more of a _Lance_ plan, not a wise Black Paladin plan --who was he bullshitting with that wise crap--.

“We’re screwed. You realize that, right?” He informed his double, just because he thought it needed to be said. Shiro sighed exasperatedly and rubbed at his temple.

“Have some faith.” He told his clone. Kuron obligingly raised his hands in the vague semblance of a wordless cheer.

“Go team.” He deadpanned. It was Shiro’s turn to snort at that, and Kuron didn’t feel smug about garnering the reaction, not at all.  

Without warning, the door beside Shiro slid up and both of them sprang to their feet almost in sync before Shiro darted away from the door to stand tense and at the ready beside Kuron, who stood with his teeth bared threateningly.

“Oh wow.” A familiar voice piped up from the doorway, and both men stared in surprise as a short green and white figure stepped into the cell, arm raised and still bearing an active holoscreen.

Pidge blinked at them both over the display on her arm.

“That’s both cool and slightly terrifying.” She said as her eyes settled on Kuron --or more accurately his teeth--. Shiro relaxed at the sight of her, and nudged a still tense Kuron with his elbow.

“And you said we were screwed.” He teased. Kuron hesitantly lowered his claws and straightened from his stance to scowl half heartedly at him.

“The days not over yet, _Takashi_.” He retorted. Shiro pouted at him. What the fuck was going on anymore?

“As amusing as this weird passive aggressive flirting is, we gotta go.” Pidge announced before turning on her heel to exit the cell. Shiro spluttered at her back in an impressive show of stunned disbelief while Kuron’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline once again.

He didn’t even think about it before he jabbed his elbow into Shiro’s side.

“I like her.” The clone said, faintly awed. Shiro sighed and palmed his face.

“Of course you do.” He muttered, before pointedly striding after the Green Paladin. Kuron blinked at his back, before glancing around at the cell. Would it really be that easy? He flexed his claws. Could he really just walk out? Just like that?

No. Haggar wouldn’t let him. He may be able to escape this cell, but he’d never make it off the ship. Especially not with two Paladins of Voltron with him. Every drone on the ship would be sent after them, to recapture Shiro and subdue Kuron. They’d probably get the Green Lion too.

That couldn’t happen.

But if he didn’t go with them, there was still that possibility --they’d made it through life without him so far, though, they _didn’t need him--._   

He wasn’t at his best, either. His arm was still locked down and he was tired, hungry and battered. His ankle wasn’t quite throbbing anymore, but it was still tender. It would be easy to damage it again if he wasn’t careful. Kuron jumped as Shiro reappeared in the doorway.

“You coming?” He asked, but somehow Kuron didn’t think it was really meant as a question.

Kuron lingered where he stood, hesitant. Wordlessly, the Black Paladin held out a hand, encouraging, and Kuron swallowed thickly.

_Could_ it really be that easy?

He eyed the hand held out to him --the left one, and why did that make him feel weirdly warm inside?-- before staring at the face of its owner. Shiro was smiling again, and there was nothing nasty about it --Haggar’s smiles were always mocking, cruel-- and his storm grey eyes were kind, reassuring and without judgement.

Kuron exhaled heavily through his nose and stepped forward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter than usual because I've been too busy drawing when I should be writing. Oops? At any rate, chapter one now has art if anyone's interested. There's another little thing I did by complete accident on my tumblr --there's a link at the end of chapter one-- as well so. Yeah. 
> 
> At least now we're getting somewhere. Also, PIDGE! :D


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